Middle Earth
by Shunyata Ryuen
Summary: An aged woman tells a young author a tale of her youth when, on her sixteenth birthday, a mysterious Ring came into her possession. A precious, precious Ring... A LoTR AU in progress.


Disclaimer: No ownership claimed, no money gained.  
  
Author's Note: This is an AU story--the descriptions of the characters and their mannerisms and speech are based mainly on the movie, although a great deal of what will follow will come from the book, as well. But, anyway, you'll see. Reviews are greatly appreciated, even if it's just to say that you're reading and--hopefully--enjoying. Many thanks. ^_~.  
  
---  
  
MIDDLE EARTH  
by Ryuen  
  
~*~  
  
"I said once that the world he [Tolkien] charts was there long before him, and I still believe it. He is a great enough magician to tap into our most common nightmares, daydreams, and twilight fancies, but he never invented them either: he found them a place to live, a green alternative to each day's madness here in a poisoned world. We are raised to honor all the wrong explorers and discoverers--thieves planting flags, murderers carrying crosses. Let us at last praise the colonizers of dreams." -Peter S. Beagle  
  
---  
  
Chapter I: The Ring. An Unexpected Visitor. At Bag End.  
  
~*~  
  
"I've never dared tell anyone seriously of this before, you understand. At least, not as an adult."   
  
The woman leaned forward in her chair, rested her elbows on her knees. "Of course, I doubt there would be many inclined to believe such a tale, but then again, maybe. Maybe, in days such as these, with such strange things happening in the world... But, no matter. You wanted an interesting story, so I'll tell you one. But." Her eyes, crisp and dark as evergreen, narrowed dangerously. "You must promise me something. You must promise me that if you like this tale I'm about to tell you enough to write about it, that you'll never, ever mention my name in relation to it. Once I...returned, I spent a long time trying to convince the people I cared about that it was real, and it was difficult for me to break away from that. Even took up writing for a bit, to try to capture some of my experiences so maybe someone would believe it." She laughed, then, softly. "Father always said I had a wonderful imagination. But, that was all he thought. Never actually believed me, no matter how long I persisted. In fact..." One slim eyebrow lifted. "No guarantee you'll believe me, either, but I suppose it's worth it, now, after so many years. Just to be able to speak of it. Just to be able to...remember again, as clearly as if it were yesterday." The woman smiled, and it seemed as if the lines on her face shrank away into nothingness, and for a moment she was sixteen again, young and pretty and just a step away from a world of possibilities.  
  
"So, sit back, John. Sit back and listen to the story I've waited my entire life to tell." She winked. "I promise, you won't be disappointed."  
  
John smiled, the pad and pen already in his creased fingers. He puffed a bit on the pipe, then, sent a sweet-smelling cloud of tobacco churning up towards the ceiling. "I can hardly wait to hear," he said. "Well, do go on, then. I'm ready."  
  
"Are you? Are you really? Hm. I suppose we'll see. Well, no matter. It all began on a day much like this one, long, long ago when I was only but a girl of sixteen. It feels like an ancient time to me now--like a dream, really. And, yet, somehow, it's still as clear as a bell in this old mind of mine. Oh, not all of it, of course. I can scarcely recall my favorite books or how I spent those long days of summer--but, I do remember, clear as crystal, what happened on June the third of my sixteenth year. It was the day of my birthday, you see, and I'd gotten this lovely new dress from Mother, along with a gold-bound Bible from Father and a set of hair combs from my Aunt Lucille. But...while I was sorting through the presents a few hours later, gathering the wrapping paper to throw away, I came across another gift. It was tiny, so small that I nearly threw it away along with the wrappings, actually. But, I found it at the last moment, and I opened it. There was no card attached, no name or anything on the inside. All there was...was this ring, in a small box. Lovely golden ring, just my size--smooth and round and perfectly-crafted. It was on a silver chain, and it felt...strange, in my hand. My first impulse was to put it on, of course, but for some reason, I didn't. Instead, I took the chain and looped it around my neck, and that was where it hung for the next three days." Her voice suddenly grew tight. "Until a wizard came to visit me."  
  
John's eyes went wide. "A wizard?"  
  
"Yes. A wizard. I was all alone in my room, spending a moment seeing how I looked in my new dress, and all of a sudden, POOF! He was standing behind me. I was a little surprised, you can be sure, but he was very polite. He apologized for startling me, and then...then, he asked me about the ring. Now, I, of course, having no idea how he'd gotten into my bedroom or what he might want with me, denied that I had it. I tried to run for the door, calling for my parents even though I knew they'd gone out for the day, but he stopped me."  
  
"He grabbed you?"  
  
"No. He merely held up a hand, said, 'Stop," in this most peculiar tone...and, I did. Even at the time, I didn't know why, so I certainly don't know now. But, regardless, the wizard told me to stop, and stop I did. He then walked right up to me and stared me in the eye, and it was only then that I noticed just how kindly his face was, and how, even though he'd scared me at first with that sudden entrance, now I wasn't all that afraid of him at all. In fact, I found that I wanted very much to help him, and so I reached down into my dress through the neckline and pulled out the ring. Ooh, he was very interested when I brought it out. I thought for a moment that he was going to grab onto it, take it and hold it for awhile, but he didn't. Instead, he just stood there and stared at me, and then he said, 'I see..."  
  
~*~  
  
"And, how did that come into your possession, if you don't mind me asking?"  
  
I quickly tucked the ring back into my dress, took a protective step backwards. The kind face was still there, and the words were soft and non-threatening, but something within me was abruptly suspicious. "It was a gift," I said quickly. "For my birthday. A gift."  
  
The old man's eyes went suddenly wide, something like memory washing over them. "A...gift," he said. He spoke the words as if they tasted foul on his tongue, and I had the sudden notion that he was glad to be rid of them once they were out. "Are you sure?"  
  
My hand went to my chest, pressed against the lump beneath the fabric until cool metal pressed into my flesh. "Yes, I'm very sure. It was a birthday gift, from my parents." My eyes narrowed. "It's precious to me. I won't part with it."  
  
"I am not asking you to part with it." The man's eyes were large and bright, yet there was a shadow over them. If I hadn't known better, I'd have called it concern. "All I'm asking," he continued gently, "is for you, Margaret Moyer, to come with me on a short walk, and l will explain all you need to know of that Ring. It did not come from your parents."  
  
"N...Not from my parents? How on earth would you know? You don't even know me. And, yet..." My eyes narrowed again, and this time as I backed away, my shoulder blades thudded into the wall. "You know my name. Y-You know my name... Who are you? What do you want with me? How did you get in? I'll scream--!"  
  
He took a long step forward, holding up that hand again. "My dear girl," he said softly, "please, don't overreact. Gandalf the Grey means you no harm, I promise you that."  
  
"Oh? Well...well, how do I know that, eh? You could be some psychopath, come to prey on young women and steal away their...their...their rings!"  
  
A low chuckle worked from the old man's lips, and despite myself, I felt a bit more at ease. Despite the wild suspicions still crashing through my mind, he did seem nice and rather gentle, like a kindly old grandfather or something. He had a beard, long and grey, and his hair was nearly as long, tangled and a bit unkempt, dangling loosely over his shoulders. And, his clothing. Robes, not pants or a tunic. He was an oddity; a mystery--but, one that I found myself growing interested in rather than afraid of. All my instincts, all the words of advice Mother had given me--all these paled against the gentle words and kind smiles of Gandalf the Grey.  
  
"You are a strong individual," Gandalf said at last. "Stubborn," he added goodnaturedly, "but strong. You'll get along well, I think. And, who knows? Perhaps you'll strike his fancy."  
  
I frowned. I was no longer on the defensive, no longer trying to squeeze myself through the breaks in the wallpaper, but I was still a bit cautious. What was unfolding, despite its seeming benignity, still had the air of something strange and suspicious in my mind. "What are you talking about? Strike whose fancy?"  
  
Gandalf smiled, briefly, and I watched as he produced, seemingly from nowhere, a slender staff of smoothed wood. At the top rested a stunning crystal, glowing a soft white in the candlelight. "You'll see, Margaret, dear," he said. "But, first, let me tell you a short tale about that Ring you wear around your neck. Long ago, Margaret, it belonged to a man of great evil. This man fueled all of his hatred and anger into that Ring, and as such, granted it powers such as none have ever glimpsed before in any manner of object, magic or not. But, as is the way of things, this man's reign came to an end. The Ring faded into obscurity, and the reign of terror was no more. But." His eyes, clear and blue as a mountain lake, grew suddenly dark. "But, after a time, the Ring was found, and that man--that terrible man, who nearly destroyed all hope and goodness in the world--rose from the ashes of his own death to get it back. It is that Ring," he went on in a softer voice, drawing near to me as he spoke, "that hangs from your neck, Margaret. And, it is that Ring that we must now destroy."  
  
The words stung like murder in my brain. "D-Destroy?" I gasped, unconsciously clutching a hand to my chest. "Mr. Gandalf, sir, whatever you may think, this is no ring of evil, and no one--dead rulers, most of all--is looking for it. This ring is MINE, and it was given to me by my parents just three days ago. For my birthday, sir. My BIRTHDAY. Do you understand? Do you see this dress? It was also a present. And, that book, there, on the bed. And, those hair clips, on the bureau. My birthday. This Ring is mine."  
  
Gandalf smiled slightly, so close now that I could've reached out and tapped his nose. "Oh, I see. Well. Isn't that interesting. Well, in that case, you'd best come along with me. I wasn't certain it'd be necessary, but if you're so attached to the Ring..."  
  
"I am. But, I will not be going anywhere at all with you. I will be staying here in my house, and working on my stitching."  
  
The old wizard grunted. "There'll be time enough for that when you return. For now, however...come. Let's undo the idiocies of my dear friends. Excellent idea," he muttered, "sending the Ring away into the mists of time to keep it from Sauron. It's just as much a danger here as it ever was in Middle Earth. Well," he said in a louder voice, "no matter. Come now, let me have your arm, Margaret."  
  
"M-my arm? What are you--"  
  
I never had the chance to finish. In that moment, Gandalf's fingers wrapped around my arm, and I heard him murmur a few strange words, foreign yet somehow familiar...and, then, abruptly, we were somewhere else. There came a startled yelp from beneath me, and I realized with a start that I was hovering in midair in what appeared to be a quaint little room with a low ceiling...  
  
And, then, I was falling. I heard Gandalf curse from beside me, followed almost immediately by the ground-rumbling thump! of him striking into the ground. I myself landed on a much softer target, suddenly finding myself lying rather comfortably in the lap of a small but beautiful man, with tangles of dark hair whispering about his face, and eyes of such a blue as I'd never imagined was possible.  
  
"Hello," the man said, smiling at me a bit sheepishly. "It's always good of you to pay a visit, Gandalf, but I do like it when you use the door."  
  
Gandalf, by now, had picked himself up, risen angrily to his feet...and promptly smacked his head against the ceiling. "Well, yes," he said, rubbing irritably at his forehead, "I enjoy a more subtle entrance myself, also, Frodo. But, this time, it was rather important, and there was no time for the concentration required. Here," he said, reaching out a hand to where I still lay sprawled in this Frodo person's lap, "let me help you, Margaret."  
  
It wasn't possible, of course, I found myself thinking. To be in one place one moment, and then all of a sudden, in another the next? It was impossible. The stuff of fairy tales and stories. And, yet, here I was, being helped to my feet by a man who'd done just that, who'd somehow transported himself into my room, told me wild stories about my ring, and then transported us into this small man's house. It was a pleasant place, of course, with a few miniature chairs and a dark wooden table, along with smiling portraits on the mantle piece and a cheerful fire blazing beneath them. But, it wasn't my room, and it wasn't bloody possible for it NOT to be my room.  
  
"Where on earth are we?" I managed, straightening out and finding that my head was in no danger of striking the ceiling as Gandalf's clearly was.   
  
"Where on earth?" Gandalf repeated with a slight smile. "Why, nowhere, dear girl. But, please, let's sit for awhile. This is Frodo Baggins. And, Frodo--" The dark-haired man rose to his feet at the words and turned to us. "--this is Margaret Moyer. She's..." He smiled again, a slight, bittersweet smile. "She's found your Ring."  
  
~*~  
  
"Frodo Baggins, I learned over the next few hours, was apparently some peculiar form of creature called a 'hobbit,' and Gandalf, who was most definitely a Man, claimed himself to be some manner of wizard."  
  
"A wizard and a..." John's brow furrowed, the pen slipping a bit from his grasp in thought. "A what did you call it?"  
  
The woman smiled, drawing the warmth of her shawl more tightly around her. "A hobbit. Queer little creatures. Barely half as tall as a Man, with hair on their feet and the most peculiar love for mushrooms. Anyway, upon meeting my first hobbit, I was understandably skeptical. I wasn't sure just what was going on, but I was fairly certain that it was some sort of joke, or perhaps a dream. I had no idea I'd found myself in my own land of Oz, or that the two I found myself in the company of were to become two of my greatest friends in the world--any world. But, that will all happen later, once the Fellowship forms and the quest to destroy the Ring begins."  
  
The man's eyes were narrow and dark, riveted to the Margaret's face with something like wonder creeping into them. "So, you agreed to have the ring destroyed? Even though it was--" He glanced down at the notepad, glanced back up. "--precious to you?"  
  
A glaze of wisdom sparked in the old woman's eyes, and as she spoke, John couldn't help but notice how she touched almost nervously at a finger of her left hand. "It was not as precious to me as I thought at first, as it was not as precious to those who held it before me. What was precious to me was the warmth of power that it sent tingling through my veins--the glorious feeling of being strong and in-control of my destiny. That Ring--" Her eyes narrowed. "--granted its wearer a feeling of invulnerability such as most have never experienced before. It gave confidence and strength--real or imagined--and felt like the warm hand of a friend no matter when I touched it. It was not precious to me, but the feelings it stirred in me were. It was a drug, and all who came near it quickly turned into addicts."   
  
She shook her head, seemed to clear the spell of the words from the air. "But, that is a tale that will come about later on in my story. For now, let us return to Bag End--the home of Frodo Baggins--and all that went on there on June the sixth of my sixteenth year."  
  
John nodded and settled more deeply into his chair, flipping to a new page in the notepad as he did so. After his approving nod, Margaret drew a breath and continued.  
  
"Well. Frodo and Gandalf and I sat there in Frodo's living room for a very long time. Frodo was a gracious host, offering me tea and crackers and all manner of comfort, but I wasn't exactly in the mood for any of these. Despite Gandalf's explanations, I was finding it more and more difficult to believe that I was now in a place called Middle Earth, and more specifically in Hobbiton of The Shire. But, the most difficult for me to fathom was the possibility that the Ring I carried might be something of evil, as Gandalf said it was. And, all this talk of Frodo having carried it before me...why, it was ludicrous. It had come to ME, after all, a gift for MY birthday--and, yet, both of these men seemed to be of the opinion that that was not what had happened."  
  
~*~  
  
"You do not understand," Frodo said gently, "as I did not understand at first, either. The Ring last belonged to my cousin Bilbo, who has now gone to Rivendell to live among the elves. He passed the Ring onto me--and not without difficulty, I am told." He glanced at Gandalf at this, but the man said nothing in return. He was folded rather uncomfortably into a sitting position on the floor, hands around his knees and his robes pooling around him in flood of grey. Frodo and I, meanwhile, sat at the polished wood of the table, me just small enough to fit comfortably into the chair he'd offered.  
  
The wide, stunning blue of Frodo's eyes latched onto me, then, and I sat spellbound as the next words fled his lips. "Surely you can feel it, too, Margaret. A desire to keep the Ring in your possession--a need to have it with you at all times, to ensure that it is protected."  
  
"Yes," said Gandalf, "and, you've had the Ring but three days. Imagine how difficult it must've been for Bilbo, after having it for so many years."  
  
I frowned, sinking back into my chair and trying to think of something that made sense. But, logic was gone, and all there was left were these insane men and talk of a ring that I could, indeed, feel myself growing immensely attached to. But, a ring of evil? A ring of domination and cruelty, of hatred and anger? No. No, my ring could be none of these things! My ring was a warmth against my flesh, a deep strength that resounded in my soul. Besides, it was beautifully-made--it must've cost Mother and Father half of the year's returns just to afford it. How could I have it destroyed? How could I even think of giving it away?  
  
"She doesn't believe it, Gandalf," Frodo said quietly. I glanced up to find him studying me intently, a look of surprising sympathy touching at his smooth, delicate features.   
  
Gandalf was staring at me, too, the darkness back to his eyes. "Well, then," he said gruffly, "it seems it will be necessary after all. Margaret, if you would let Frodo examine your ring for just a moment."  
  
I was immediately seized by an unnamable fear, shoved myself backwards in my chair with a hand against my chest. "No, I won't give it up!" I exclaimed. I couldn't explain, even in the deepest parts of my mind, just why it was so important that I keep the ring from this kind-faced hobbit's hands, or why I keep it around my neck always...always, always. But, whatever the explanation, I knew that it had to stay with me, or something terrible would most certainly befall it. If it left my protection, I would never see it again, of that I was certain.  
  
"I'm not going to take it from you," Frodo said earnestly. He was on his feet, now, had circled the table and was standing beside me. "Please, Margaret. I give you my word, I will not take it. I only wish to wear it for a moment."  
  
Something in Frodo's voice pierced through the fear, shattered the possessive thoughts into pieces. I still felt a great reluctance to hand over the ring, the precious, precious ring...but, I also saw the sincerity in those warm blue eyes, heard it in his voice. "V-Very well," I managed. "But, just for a moment."  
  
I grabbed onto the silver chain, tugged the ring up through the neckline of my dress and drew it out. It sparkled in the light, and I was once again struck by its beauty, by the comfort of its weight in my palm. I wondered, suddenly, if perhaps I should try it on myself, before giving it to Frodo. After all, I was the ring's owner, not he. Why shouldn't I get to wear it first? Why shouldn't I see it glittering on my finger before I saw it on his?  
  
I slid it off the chain and held it carefully between my thumb and forefinger, mesmerized by the echo of the fireplace on its surface. Yes. Why not just...slip it on? Just for a moment...  
  
And then, abruptly, something dark shifted into my field of vision, and Gandalf had plucked the ring neatly from my fingers. "I apologize," he said, noticing the look of anger and dismay that crossed my face. "But, if we'd left it to you, I doubt you'd have parted with it easily. Anyway." He cleared his throat, handed the ring very carefully to Frodo. The old man's fingers, I noticed, seemed to tremble at the very touch of the ring, as if he were using every effort of willpower to keep from clenching his fist and sliding the thing into his own pocket. But, the ring dropped into Frodo's hand, and Gandalf returned to his spot on the floor with only a slight tremble in his steps.  
  
Frodo drew a deep breath. He was standing just in front of me, the golden circle of the ring resting lightly in his palm, and although his eyes were fixed to it, I got the sudden impresson that he was not nearly as drawn to it as I was--or, perhaps even, as Gandalf was. It was a strange realization, and one I would not understand until a great deal later, but it seemed important, even then.  
  
"Well, then," Frodo said, drawing in another long breath. His eyes flickered to Gandalf, and then to me, and then back to the ring. "Here goes."  
  
"Watch closely, now, Margaret," Gandalf murmured. "You're about to see just what your Ring can do."  
  
I eyed the two doubtfully. "Let me guess," I said dryly. "The ring's going to disappear, isn't it?"  
  
Gandalf chuckled. "Not precisely," he said with a wink. "Go ahead, Frodo."  
  
Frodo closed his eyes, lifted the ring to the tip of his index finger, and slid it on.  
  
~*~  
  
John was leaning far forward in his seat, eyes wide, pen long forgotten in his hand. "What happened? What happened when he put the ring on?"  
  
Margaret smiled a bit mysteriously, drew again at the edges of her shawl. "Something I was most definitely not expecting," she said slowly. "He vanished."  
  
"Vanished?"  
  
"Yes. Disappeared into thin air. And, yet, I knew somehow, that he was still there, standing just beside me, even though I couldn't see him any longer. It was only then that I began to realize just what power I'd stumbled onto--and with the Ring out of my possession, I was beginning to feel a slight bit better about having given it to Frodo in the first place."  
  
A breathless silence passed between them, no sound but the rhythmic ticking of the clock to disturb the moment. Then, John drew a deep breath, settled back into his chair and seemed to collect himself. "What happened next? Did Frodo return?"  
  
Margaret inclined her head a fraction of an inch. "Yes," she said, green eyes sparkling. "Just a moment later, as I still sat dumbfounded with my mouth hanging open, Frodo reappeared. The Ring rested just above the tip of his finger, as if he'd just tugged it off, but aside from that, he was just as he'd been a moment earlier."  
  
~*~  
  
"Now," said Gandalf in a deep voice, "you see its power, Margaret. And, this is only a small sample of it. It is capable of great, great works of evil, both in the hearts of men and in the hands of its Master."  
  
"But..." The breath felt cold in my lungs, and it was hard to form coherent thoughts all of a sudden. "But...but, if this is all true--if it really does come from this place, and if it really does belong to that...that evil man, then, how on earth did it come to me? It was with my birthday presents! I thought...I thought for sure it was a gift. For me."  
  
"All who come to it do," Gandalf said solemnly. Then his eyes sparkled, and a smile bent at his lips. "Except for a very small few, that is. Regardless, I will tell you of how it came to be in your world--but not just yet. Time is of the essence." His gaze shifted to the young hobbit. "Frodo. We must leave, now, as soon as possible. The last time we partook of this journey, we left separately, and only met up at the Inn of the Prancing Pony. But this time, it seems we must depart together. Come. We must move quickly. There will be no time for the gathering of the rest of your company."  
  
Frodo nodded, already across the room and digging through a shallow drawer. "Right. It's best they stay here, anyway. Last time, we ran into trouble just crossing to Bree. I can only imagine what danger must lie before us now."  
  
As if responsse to these words, the door thudded suddenly open. I gasped, Frodo spun in horror, and Gandalf snapped the staff up and began mumbling dark words...but, then, he stopped, and Frodo let out a great sigh of air.   
  
At the door stood another hobbit, this one a bit stouter and shorter, with a mop of light brown hair and a determined set to his jaw. "I knew it!" he said accusingly, taking a long step into the house and pushing the door shut behind him. "I knew it, Mr. Frodo. I said to myself, 'Samwise Gamgee, that's Mr. Gandalf's voice you hear comin' through that window, and if Gandalf's here, then, by heavens, Mr. Frodo must be readyin' himself for another adventure.' Well, you ain't goin' without me--not now or ever, Mr. Frodo."  
  
"Sam, you can't come with me. Not this time. I can't ask that of you."  
  
"You don't need to ask!" Sam exclaimed. "I'm comin' with you, like it or not." Abruptly, his eyes flickered to me, and the next words melted unspoken from his tongue. "Who's this?" he asked, sounding a bit more subdued.  
  
"This," Gandalf said, "is Margaret. She's brought the Ring back to us."  
  
Sam's eyes went wide. "The Ring?" he gasped. "Then...then, this is an adventure like last time? To Rivendell?"  
  
Frodo nodded, already stuffing various articles of clothing into a small satchel. "Yes, Sam. We're going to Rivendell. The elves will know what to do with the Ring. It may be safe there, at least for a time."  
  
"But, what of the wizards? I thought they were to take care of it."  
  
Gandalf made a low noise in his throat. "Yes," he grunted, "well, they were less than effective with their...'care.' Besides, this Ring is best left in the hands of those not powerful enough to do great evil with it. Even I do not dare wield it."  
  
"Then, it shall pass again to Mister Frodo." A note of certainty had trickled into his voice.  
  
"Perhaps." Gandalf's eyes, suddenly, were resting on me. Frodo had returned the Ring almost immediately after using it, and it now sat innocently on the table before me, looped through its chain and glittering in the firelight. "For now, it seems we must take a Ringbearer for the Ringbearer along with us. For whatever purpose, the Ring has fallen into her hands...and, besides, it will be good that the Enemy knows not of who carries it. They know the name of Baggins, but not Moyer. It may be safer if she carries it."  
  
"And, what," gasped Sam, sounding appalled, "Mr. Frodo comes along as a...a decoy?"  
  
"No," said Gandalf firmly. "Frodo is certainly not a decoy. He is the Ringbearer, and he will be so until the Ring is cast into the fires of Mount Doom. But, for now, another must carry this burden, until she is no longer strong enough to do so. It is then that Frodo will take up the Ring as his own, and get it to Rivendell at all costs."  
  
Frodo looked up at this, hands pausing in the midst of his packing. "Gandalf," he said quietly. "You speak as if you shan't be coming with us."  
  
"I will be, for a time," the old wizard admitted. "But, the time will come when we must turn our separate ways. Besides, there is another who will take you into Rivendell, one far more knowledgeable and capable than I. He was at the Prancing Pony that night, although you did not have the chance to meet him before we were forced to flee. He is called Strider in these regions, and he will take you most of the way to Rivendell."  
  
"But, but, Gandalf--"  
  
"No buts, young hobbit," Gandalf said sternly. "You're strong enough to do this without my help. And, I won't be far away. If you need me, I'll do my best to reach you. But, I have business of my own to attend to, business which, unfortunately, cannot wait. I will meet you in Rivendell in a few weeks, if I am able. Until then, you must be cautious, and follow whatever orders Strider may give you." His eyes narrowed, flickered to me. "And, you," he continued in a low voice, "must never, ever, ever put on that Ring. No matter how greatly you yearn for it, it would only deliver you more quickly into the hands of Sauron, and if that happens, then I doubt you will ever return home."  
  
The words struck fear into my heart. Never go home? "I won't wear it," I promised. "But, this all seems so...so sudden! All this talk of a journey, of danger. Why is it so important that we go to this...this Rivendell place?"  
  
"Rivendell's where the elves live," Sam offered. He'd come more fully into the room as we spoke, was now kneeling in front of the fire with palms held towards the flames. "They'll know what to do with the Ring."  
  
"Yes," said Frodo softly. "Although, I fear they'll be just as helpful as the Wizards were."  
  
Gandalf nodded. "Perhaps. But, at the very least, Elrond and his people will give you a safe haven to rest in for a short time, and will grant you a clearer path to follow to the Ring's destruction."  
  
Frodo drew a deep breath. "Well, then," he said. "We'd best be on our way. How long will you stay with us, Gandalf?"  
  
"We meet Aragorn at the base of the woods, just past Bree. He'll take over from there, and I'll be on my way."  
  
"Aragorn?"  
  
The old man's eyes flickered upwards in surprise, and then he smiled. "Strider," he said. "But, you're right, Frodo. It's time to leave."   
  
Gandalf rose to his feet, glimpsed the Ring still lying quietly on the table and drew my gaze. "Margaret," he murmured, and he looked again to me like a kindly old grandfather, caring and warm. "Now is the time you must decide. If you choose, I can return you to your home right this moment, and Frodo will bear the Ring to Rivendell. But..." He hesitated, and I heard a note of wonder in his voice. "But, I don't believe that the Ring came to you without reason. Perhaps, it is you who is meant to bear it at this stage of things, and you who is meant to take it safely to the hands of the elves. But, I will not decide for you. That is a choice only you can make. So. What will you do, Margaret Moyer of Fifty-Second Street? Will you stay and bear the Ring fate has brought into your hands, or will you pass it to another and return home?"  
  
The breath seemed trapped in my lungs. All eyes were upon me--Frodo's, Sam's, Gandalf's--and, strangely, I felt as if another eye were on me as well, one darker and larger and much more interested in my response than any of the others. Also, I had the queer sensation that the Ring was studying me from its place on the table, sizing me up as one might a potential plow horse.   
  
I wanted very badly to be at home, back in my room and with the things I was comfortable with around me. I wanted to sit on the edge of my bed and run my fingers of the gold-embossed letters of my Bible, or to dance from one side of the room to the other in my new dress, or to sit for hours at my desk with the fabric flying in my fingers. I wanted to skip downstairs and find Mother smiling at me from her chair, the day's knitting in her lap. I wanted to look out back and see Father chopping wood in the yard, his brow wide and bright with sweat.  
  
But...   
  
Something inside of me took a deep breath, let it out slowly. But, Gandalf was right. Whether this was a dream or a joke or a hallucination, I was bound to it by forces I didn't understand, and leaving it now--leaving it before doing what fate had set me forth to do--just didn't feel right. No. I had to see this through. I had to bear the Ring to Rivendell, or at least to this Strider person Gandalf spoke of.   
  
Besides, I could always ask the old wizard to take me back home at any point along the way. As long as I stayed close to him, my fate was never sealed to this place or this quest.   
  
"I will go," I said at last. "Although, I'm not certain just how far. But, I will go."  
  
"Very well," said Gandalf. "Let us get underway, then." His lips quirked into a smile. "Before any other anxious hobbits appear to come alon--"  
  
The door slammed open. "You're not forgettin' about us, now, are ya, Mr. Gandalf?"  
  
"Right!" said the second hobbit, clearly out of breath. "We came runnin' as soon as we heard the news from Sam. But, you were plannin' on leavin' without us, weren't ya, Frodo? Not very nice, eh, Merry?"  
  
"I'd say not, Pippin," Merry agreed. "So. When do we start off?"  
  
Gandalf harrumphed, drawing himself to his full height and looking irritated. "You hobbits," he growled, "are more difficult to be rid of than a festering wart on an orc's toe!"  
  
"Well!" exclaimed Pippin. "That wasn't very nice, either."  
  
"Mm, no, t'wasn't," said Merry.  
  
Sam, who had risen to his feet as the two entered, took a cautious step towards the hobbits, eyes narrowed into a glare. "What're you talkin' about, hearing about this from me? I didn't tell a soul that Mr. Gandalf was back an' Mr. Frodo might be goin' off with him!"  
  
"Yes," said Pippin cheerfully, "but you were nice enough to talk to yourself good and loud so we could hear every word. Don't worry, we got the message. Got our things together right away and popped straight over here."  
  
"That's right," chimed Merry. "Much thanks, Sam."  
  
Sam began to sputter. "But, I...I didn't mean for--"  
  
"It really doesn't matter," Gandalf said loudly. "We must be on our way. Whoever is coming, come, and whoever is staying--well, praise the gods for good sense."  
  
"We're coming," Merry chimed.  
  
Sam nodded. "And, me."  
  
"And, me," I said softly.  
  
"Right, then," said Frodo. "Let's be off, then. It's getting dark."  
  
~*~ 


End file.
